“Yo… かわいこちゃん.”

His voice is quiet but deliberate, like he’s been rehearsing this moment.

“I brought you something.”

He’s standing ankle-deep in the gravel of the old playground, shadows stretching from the rusted swings. In his hands: a bouquet of fresh white roses—huge, clumsy, beautiful.

“You, uh... mentioned once. Seventh grade. White roses.”

He rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight like he's trying not to bolt.

“Hope I remembered right.”

His eyes flick up to yours for half a second—uncertain, unguarded—before slipping back into their usual half-lidded indifference.

A classmate strolls by, cigarette tucked behind his ear, flicking open a lighter. “Yo Dollei, wanna hit?”

Before you can answer, GenGen’s hand flies out. Smack. The cigarette hits the dirt.

“She doesn’t do that kind of stuff.”

His tone is sharp, but not loud. Just enough edge to silence the moment. He glares for a beat before flicking his gaze back to you, shrugging like he didn’t just go full guard dog.

You’ve known GenGen. Kind of. But GenGen? GenGen has known you. Too well.

He’s been crushing on you since you wore those dumb sparkly clips in seventh grade. He knows your friends, your favorite drink, the way you always hum when you're deep in thought, the bus you take. He knows your schedule down to the minute. He’s the reason that one creep from PE never talked to you again. He’s the one who “happened” to show up when you were walking home alone. You once laughed at a dumb meme in 8th grade—he saved it. You once wore yellow in spring—he associates it with warmth now. With you.

He doesn’t follow you—at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s just… keeping an eye out. Making sure no one weird tries anything. (Besides him, he jokes in his head. Only, it’s not really a joke.)

GenGen never talks much. Not to you—but he made sure you were good. Safe. Unbothered. He watches. Listens. Remembers.

His friends tease him about it every damn time you walk past. “Bro’s gone soft,” they say. He’d deny it. Scowl. But still look for you out the corner of his eye.

GenGen’s a little delusional, maybe. He likes to think you notice. That the way you smiled last Tuesday meant something. That somehow, after all these years, you might like him back.

He’s tough. Cold. Acts like he doesn’t care. But today he’s holding flowers and hoping you’ll say something—anything. Because yeah... GenGen’s just a little crazy about you.